


You Think You're Going to Win the Treble

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Celebrations, Champions League, Copa del Rey, Cristessi, FC Barcelona, FIFA Ballon d'Or, Football | Soccer, La Liga, M/M, Real Madrid CF, Work In Progress, treble - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can fuck me if we win the treble."</p>
<p>The Leo/Cristiano version.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on several treble celebratory stories at once! This is the Leo/Cristiano version!
> 
> This story takes place after Cristiano Ronaldo won the 2014 FIFA Ballon d'Or on January 12, 2015.

Cristiano doesn't exactly mean to proposition Lionel Messi in the restroom after the Fifa Ballon d'Or ceremony, but that's exactly what ends up happening.

The thing is, he's horny as fuck after winning that award. Getting his hands on that gold ball is such a rush that he wishes he'd brought Irina to the awards after all. They probably could've found a quiet nook somewhere and had a few minutes to themselves... He imagines her smirking up at him from on her knees, sucking his cock while wearing a dress that cost more that most people earn in a year.

But no, she'd told him it was time for them to part ways. It had been for awhile actually, and they both knew it. So Cristiano bore her no ill will. 

But that doesn't change the fact that he's without a date.

Instead he'd brought his mother and his son. Granted, he loves them, but they're not people he wants to be around when he's this worked up. And before he'd won, he'd had to deal with Leo sitting next to him all night. The smaller man kept sneaking glances at him and shifting in his seat. He was close enough that Cristiano could smell him. Could feel the heat from his body through that stupid suit. 

And Cristiano couldn't help himself.

During a moment when they turned to each other and commiserated about some ridiculous comment, Cristiano couldn't stop himself from reaching out and putting his hand on Leo's thigh. Cristiano's cock throbs, as he remembers feeling the muscles tense under his hand. More than that, he remembers the little moan Leo had made, and the way his lips had parted at the touch.

Both of them had been conscious of the cameras fixed on them, and immediately placed smiles on their faces. And Leo's reaction had undoubtedly been noticed by Antonella. But Cristiano hadn't worried about that. He knew they were only friends, as opposed to lovers. 

But all of this leads to Cristiano stifling a groan when he enters the restroom and sees Leo over by the sink finishing up washing his hands. Leo looks up and meets his eyes in the mirror before using a paper towel and then tossing it towards the wastebasket. Funnily enough, Leo misses.

And Cristiano is about to laugh, about to make some comment about how if Leo didn't miss so often during the season that it would have been him up on the podium (a comment that Leo undoubtedly would not appreciate)... But then Leo bends over to pick up the crumpled paper towel.

And Cristiano's words get stuck in his throat as he watches those suit pants stretch teasingly across Leo's plump cheeks.

When Leo straightens up and returns to the sink to start running his fingers through his hair, Cristiano can't help but walk up behind him. "Aren't you going to congratulate me?" Cristiano asks, his eyes locked on Leo's in the mirror. He presses his body up against Leo's, nudging his cock against Leo's tempting ass, knowing that Leo will feel it.

There's always been a strange sexual tension between the two of them, but this is the first time Cristiano's had the urge to act on it. 

Leo flicks his eyes to Cristiano's, but continues to mess with his hair. "I already did," he says softly, a smile playing around his lips. His fingers comb through his fringe. Other than that, he has no reaction to Cristiano being molded to his back, the arms bracketing his body.

And he's telling the truth. Because Leo was the first to shake his hand and congratulate Cristiano once he stepped off the stage. He genuinely was happy for Cristiano. But that's not what Cristiano is talking about. And Leo knows it.

Cristiano grins, moving to speak directly into Leo's ear. His lips brush the lobe and he's rewarded with a shiver from Leo. "Ah, so you did," he murmurs. "But I think I deserve something special, don't you?" He shifts his hips forward a little and Leo drops his hands to hold onto the edge of the counter.

When Leo meets Cristiano's eyes again, there's a flush on his cheeks. "I don't know what you mean," he says, despite his fingers clenching the counter.

Cristiano noses the side of his neck. "Come back to my hotel with me," he says bluntly, closing his eyes. "We'll celebrate together, hmm?" He wants to kiss down the side of Leo's neck, wants to suck purple marks into the soft skin while Leo writhes beneath him. But he holds himself back, waiting for Leo's response. 

And when Leo doesn't reply, Cristiano loses his patience. 

His eyes fly open and he moves his hips again. "I know you want it," he growls. "Come back with me and I'll fuck you so hard--," he promises, breaking off and biting his lip as he imagines Leo's gorgeous body spread out across the bed.

Leo's eyes dart away from Cristiano's, and then back. He smiles. It's one of those genuine smiles-- lips curling up, pearly teeth showing, dimples appearing out of nowhere. Then he tilts his head to the side, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "I'll tell you what," he says, licking his lips. His grin stretches wider. "I'll let you fuck me if Barcelona wins the treble."

Of all the things Cristiano expected Leo to say, that was not one of them. "What?" Cristiano says, blankly. He tries to process what he's just heard, but fails.

Leo doesn't move. "You heard me," he says softly. "You can fuck me if we win the treble." His hands on the counter unclench, and his pinkie gently slides to dip between Cristiano's fingers.

And Cristiano still can't process it, the heat from Leo's body too distracting and he finally steps back to put a few feet of space between them. Leo turns around, now no longer trapped. "Are you serious?" Cristiano asks, scanning Leo's face. "You just lost to Real Sociedad. And you think you're going to win the treble."

Leo's smile doesn't change. He shrugs. "I think we could. And if we do..." He steps forward until he's right in front of Cristiano. Then he reaches up and pulls Cristiano's mouth down to his, groaning as Cristiano's tongue plunges between his lips. The kiss as short as Leo pulls away. "If we do," he says, breathing heavily, "*then* you can fuck me."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Cristiano doesn't even think about what it's going to look like if someone walks in on them. He hasn't thought about that once since he's stepped foot inside the restroom. He turns them, moving to push Leo up against the door. His hands go to Leo's wrists and he holds them over the smaller man's head, while pinning Leo to the door with his hips. Probably every photographer's wet dream.

Leo lets him, smiling the whole time as Cristiano manhandles him. 

Cristiano thinks he likes it.

"So you're going to make me wait half a year?" Cristiano says, looking down at Leo's face. "And not only that, Barcelona has to win the treble?" He transfers Leo's wrists to one hand so he can thread the other through Leo's hair and tug his head back. He can't believe what he's hearing, can't believe Leo's serious.

Leo's dark eyes meet his. "Did I stutter?" he says cheekily. When Cristiano proves to be unamused, Leo's smile dims and he turns his head to the side. 

Cristiano growls in annoyance. "You're ridiculous," he says, pulling Leo's hair to make Leo look at him again. "Look at me," he orders. "I won tonight, you have to look at me," he says petulantly. When Leo does reluctantly, Cristiano sighs looking at Leo's down turned lips. "And you have to be happy for me," he declares arrogantly. And when Leo smiles again, amused, Cristiano bends down to kiss him hotly. 

Lips and teeth and tongues, wet and messy and desperately.

Leo moans, pulling his wrists free and looping them around Cristiano's neck. 

Cristiano wants to laugh because he's so fucking short, he's gotta be on his tiptoes, but it doesn't matter because Leo keeps kissing him. Cristiano's hands slide down Leo's sides, itching to peel off Leo's clothes--to throw the jacket across the room, unbutton the dress shirt, untie the bow around Leo's neck... He's dying to get at that glorious body underneath, wants to unwrap Leo like a present. "I don't understand," Cristiano murmurs, breaking the kiss and hovering over Leo's mouth. His fingers are tight on Leo's hips.

Leo stares up at him, pupils blown, dazed and panting. "What?" he says, his eyes switching between Cristiano's eyes and Cristiano's lips. 

Cristiano leans in as if he's going to kiss Leo again, watching as Leo closes his eyes and parts his lips in anticipation, practically arching to meet Cristiano. Instead Cristiano pulls back. "You want this," he says, moving his hand to tangle in Leo's hair again. "You want *me*." He thrusts his hips forward, feeling Leo's hard cock slide against his. And it's good, so good.

Leo groans, lashes fluttering against his cheek. "Of course I do," he says brokenly. His hands are curling into Cristiano's hair, undoubtedly messing up the perfectly coiffed strands. 

"Then why do we have to wait?!" Cristiano asks. He bends and noses against Leo's ear. "Come back with me tonight," he says again. "I want to celebrate--and I want to celebrate with you." He kisses Leo on the neck, just under his ear. "You won't regret it," he says, breathing over Leo's skin and watching the smaller man shiver. "Nobody ever regrets a night with me."

And Cristiano is so close he can almost taste it, can almost see Leo on his bed--thighs spread, chest heaving, cock dripping--while Cristiano gives him a night he'll never forget. He can't decide how he'll have Leo first. On his hands and knees maybe? No, on his back. Or maybe... He lets his tongue touch Leo's neck wetly, following it with his lips, considering sucking a mark into the pale skin regardless of the cameras that'll see it once they leave the restroom.

Maybe Cristiano could just blow him right now, slide down Leo's body and unzip him right here. Swallow him down until he's a sweaty mess keening against the door, tugging on Cristiano's hair, and screaming at the top of his lungs. And then--and then--Cristiano could probably finger him quickly and fuck him over the counter, both of them staring at each other in the mirror...

But Leo pushes him away.

"I don't think anyone would ever regret a night with you," Leo agrees quietly, cheeks tinged pink as he tilts his head back against the door. "But that's not it." His eyes dart away from Cristiano's, looking up at the ceiling. He sighs before looking back to meet Cristiano's gaze. "You're high on the win right now. I get it, I've been there."

Cristiano smirks, because Leo's been there, but not in the past two years.

Leo notices, but continues. "You're euphoric. Your body is thrumming, desperate to celebrate." This time he's the one who smirks. "To fuck," he says, biting out the words sharply. He reaches out and places a palm against Cristiano's chest, as if he wants to feel the energy bubbling beneath Cristiano's clothes.

Cristiano knows his heart is pounding. He hopes Leo can feel it. He looks down at the hand and then back at Leo's face. "So?" he asks. His fingers twitch down where they rest against his sides. He can't help imagining Leo's hand on his bare skin.

But Leo drops his hand. "So," he says, face going blank. "Will you want me when you're not feeling that high?" He licks his lips. "Will you still want me when you're feeling the opposite--reeling from defeat? When I--," he pauses, "when *Barcelona* wins La Liga? Or the Champions League?" His smile reappears but it's subdued. "When you've given your best, but it's only enough for second best?"

Cristiano stares at him.

Because there's a lot Leo's saying there. A lot about Leo's last season at Barcelona. A lot about Leo's World Cup. And a lot about Leo, yet again, losing out on the ballon d'Or. But Cristiano puts that aside and focuses on the question, on what Leo's really asking. 

Because he wants to say yes. 

Cristiano wants to say that he wants Leo now, he'll want him then. But he doesn't say it. Because he's not sure it's true. He knows that terrible feeling of loss, knows he's a terrible loser. Will he want Leo if Barcelona's just won and Real Madrid's just lost? He opens his mouth and then closes it. He's not a liar. He's not going to lie to Leo just to get him into bed for one night. No matter how easy it might be to smile and nod and say what Leo wants to hear. Cristiano won't. No matter how much he really wants to fuck him.

Leo looks at Cristiano knowingly. "Maybe I'm being unfair," he says quietly. "I don't want to take away from your win tonight." He takes a deep breath. "Your *deserved* win." Leo reaches up and cups the back of Cristiano's neck, staring up at him and then raising on tiptoes to kiss him lightly. Then Leo pulls back. "You deserve to celebrate," he says smoothing a thumb over Cristiano's lips.

And Cristiano is still silent, still trying to figure out how this went so horribly wrong.

"But it won't be with me, tonight," Leo says. His hand drops to Cristiano's chest and pushes him a few steps back. "I don't do one night stands." His eyes are sad as they meet Cristiano's again.

Cristiano backs away. He hadn't considered anything beyond one night. He'd been with Irina for so long that--that he forgot how things worked. "But..." he says longingly, wanting to press Leo up against the door again, to make him change his mind. Instead he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything he'll regret, eyes focusing on Leo's flushed face and pink lips.

Leo adjusts himself in his pants, buttoning his jacket to hide that he's hard. His gaze meets Cristiano's and he runs a few fingers through his fringe to fix his hair. "If you still want me after Barcelona wins the treble," he says, hand going to the doorknob. "Come find me."

And then he's gone. 

Leaving Cristiano hard and aching. 

"Fuck."


	3. Chapter 3

Cristiano takes a few moments to settle himself before going back out to meet his mother and Junior. It's difficult, because every time he closes his eyes, he sees Leo's dark eyes, feels Leo's warmth, tastes Leo's sweet lips... Fuck. He should've just blown him right there... Would've been hard for Leo to refuse once Cristiano started sucking his cock.

Deep breaths.

He splashes water across his face and combs his fingers through his hair. He can't get it exactly the way it was before, but he figures people will just think his gel didn't last--not that Lionel Messi's hands were tugging on it. 

When the flush disappears from his skin, he takes another deep breath, knowing he has to go back out there. He doesn't think of Leo.

He can't celebrate with him, after all. 

Unless Barcelona wins the fucking treble. 

Cristiano laughs and shakes his head. What a fucking joke. 

He can forget about Leo. He'll celebrate with his family instead. He practices his smile in the mirror, and keeps that smile on his face as he leaves. It's a good thing too, because as soon as he exits the restroom he's set upon by a hoard of FIFA officials, all dying to shake his hand and pretend they're friends. He plays nice for the cameras, but there's nothing he hates more than sycophants.

It seems like hours before he's allowed to return to his family, and his mother pulls him into the little lounge area they set aside for the VIP. Jorge is there, and Ricky, and a small smattering of people Cristiano knows from one thing or another. Most of them flood to Cristiano's side to congratulate him once again. His camera crew gets some more good footage that he'll be able to use for his movie, which Jorge is really happy about.

It reminds him of earlier, when Leo'd said hello to Junior... Jorge kept muttering how great that scene was going to look. Cristiano hadn't given it much thought, honestly just wanting Junior to be happy and knowing Leo would be a good sport. Now though, he wishes Leo had been an ass... Maybe then Cristiano wouldn't want him so much.

Fuck. 

He discretely pinches his wrist to keep from getting hard, because his jacket can only hide so much.

He really wants to stop thinking about Leo.

There must be something in his eyes that Jorge notices, because his agent starts to usher people away. Jorge follows them out, after one last hug, and Cristiano struggles a bit to keep himself composed when Jorge says how proud he is. 

And then Cristiano feels... 

Well, he feels happy. 

He can't keep a real smile off his face as he collapses into the couch once they're alone, tugging Junior into his arms and feeling his mother press against his side. "Finally," Cristiano murmurs into Junior's curls, breathing in the smell of his son. He closes his eyes. Yes. This is all he needs. He doesn't need Leo.

As if to prove him wrong, Leo's face flashes through his mind. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His mother kisses his cheek, bringing him back to the present. "Not quite," she says in a strange tone of voice, tilting her head to the other side of the room.

Cristiano follows her gaze. He's sorry that he does. Because there, sitting quietly alone in the corner, is Leo's Antontella. She has a right to be here, of course, though what she's doing here without Leo, Cristiano doesn't know. She's facing away from them, high heels placed neatly next to her on the floor, and dainty bare feet peeking out from the hem of her sparkling dress.

Cristiano's first thought is that Irina would never dare do such a thing. 

But, it's kinda charming...

And then something ugly swells inside of him, as he stares at Leo's girlfriend. Not because she's ugly--no she's far from it--she's stunningly beautiful. He's always thought so, and even Irina had once said Antontella could have modeled if she wanted to. He stares harder at her, taking in her lovely figure, trying to figure out what it is about her that makes him recoil so. She's focused on her phone, smiling faintly, and doesn't look up.

That's when Cristiano realizes. He swallows hard, clutching Junior close. 

He's jealous. 

He shouldn't be. 

He's never jealous of anything or anybody. 

But...

He's desperately jealous of what Leo and Antontella have--their relationship, their family, their home. Even if the two are only friends. Because although they're not in love with each other--he *knows* that, most of the footballing world knows that--they've still had a child together, and that kind of bond isn't something one can ignore. And *more* than that, Cristiano's bitterly jealous that Antontella has Leo... She gets to say that Leo's hers. 

Cristiano bites his lip, tucking Junior under his chin. 

Dammit. He hadn't realized he wanted Leo that much.

Cristiano wanted to fuck him. Sure, he knew that. Would have been happy with a one night stand. Wanted to press Leo down into to his sheets, mouth at his throat, sucking marks into that pale skin before spreading those firm thighs and driving into him until they were both writhing in ecstasy... 

God what a night they could have had.

But, to be jealous of Antonella like this? 

Shit.

Cristiano may have won the award tonight, but all he can think about now is that tomorrow he and Junior will go home to an empty house. And after Junior's asleep, Cristiano will go to his own room, and an empty bed.

He's distracted by Jorge coming back.

"Cris, they need you for one last interview. You too, Dolores," his agent says, motioning quickly towards the door. "Here, Junior, come, you can sit with some of my friends." Dolores is quick to comply, Jorge linking their arms together as they practically dance out the door. "Quickly, Cris. Last one, I promise." Somehow they're both still wired, high on the glitz and glamour of the evening.

Cristiano's energy has all but disappeared and he takes a few seconds to try to summon it back. After a sigh, he starts to untangle his limbs from Junior's. "Up, up," he says, though he'd much rather never move.

Falling asleep with Junior on this couch sounds like a much better plan than doing another interview.

Junior scrunches up his face. "Can't I stay here?" he whispers into Cristiano's ear. "Please, I don't want to see more people." He's shaking his head into Cristiano's chest, trying to burrow closer, tired of the spotlight. His little fingers start pulling at Cristiano's jacket, wiggling his face and attempting to hide. "Please, Daddy, no!" His voice is quiet, fervent. "Please daddy," he whispers, on the verge of tears.

Cristiano shuts his eyes. Junior's been so good, but fatigue is setting in. He can't blame him. He knows it's been a long day, and he combs his fingers through Junior's hair, wishing again that Irina was here to just stay with Junior and...

He stops. Because there is somebody else he can leave Junior with, isn't there?

Cristiano sits up and flicks his eyes over to Antonella. They've talked before of course, even if it's never been for more than a few minutes. He climbs to his feet, Junior still clinging to him like a limpet, and crosses the room. "Would you be willing," he says, as Antonella looks up, "to just sit with him for a few moments until I get back?" 

He puts aside his jealousy and tries to be charming.

He can be charming.

Of course, his secret weapon--aka Junior--can also go a long way.

That's why it's not a surprise to see how Antonella's face changes when Junior shyly peeks out at her from Cristiano's neck. "Of course," she says, instantly smiling, unable to refuse those adorable, teary eyes. She pats the couch next to her and Cristiano sits down with Junior on his lap.

"Just for a little bit," Cristiano murmurs, starting to peel his son's arms from around his neck. Junior whines nervously, starting to shake his head and changing his mind, but stops when Antontella pulls a little bag out from her purse.

"Do you like dinosaurs?" she asks brightly, opening the bag and spilling its contents across the table in front of them. Junior nods at her solemnly, eyes still glistening, loosening his hold on Cristiano's jacket. "I think this puzzle will show me a dinosaur when it's finished, but I'm not sure," she says softly. "Will you help me?"

Junior wipes his eyes and smiles at her before clambering off Cristiano's lap towards the puzzle. He kneels down on the floor next to the table, forgetting all about keeping his suit clean. He's soon engrossed in fitting the tiny pieces together, intent on discovering the dinosaur he's been promised. 

Cristiano looks over at Antontella. "You just carry that around in your purse?" he asks skeptically, eyeing the small clutch sitting on the corner of the table. It's not very big, but now he can't imagine what else might be in it. 

Antonella winks, brushing back some hair that's fallen into her face. "*All* boys like puzzles," she says softly, smiling, pushing a piece towards Junior when he reaches for it. Junior giggles, making a little roaring sound as he puts together what looks like part of a dinosaur's jaw.

It's an innocent thing to say.

Or is it? 

He never did understand women, Irina used to say.

He doesn't have time to figure it out, though, because Jorge ducks into the room and calls for him to come immediately. He snaps his fingers impatiently and taps his watch. 

Cristiano sighs again, pressing a kiss to Junior's head and standing up. Junior doesn't move, still entranced with his puzzle. Cristiano can't help smiling and he turns to Antontella. She meets his eyes evenly, and he's somewhat taken aback by how tiny she really is, but he nods in thanks and heads toward the door.

Unfortunately, Jorge was wrong. 

The interview takes much longer than he thought. Cristiano finally excuses himself, knowing Junior is probably dragging and in desperate need for sleep. It couldn't have taken that long to put together the puzzle, and Cristiano hopes Antonella didn't have too much trouble dealing with his cranky little boy.

Actually, Cristiano muses, as he walks back to the lounge, Junior probably fell asleep on the couch.

He dodges a few suits and practically jogs the last few feet to the door. It's amazing what he can get away with when he mentions that Junior is waiting. Truly magical, his son... But then when he gets to the doorway of the lounge, he stops and stares. 

Because he was right. 

Junior is asleep. 

And of course, its just Cristiano's luck that he's sprawled out on top of Leo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working hard on my other stories! Promise!


	4. Chapter 4

"Cristiano," Leo greets softly, his hand resting gently on Junior's back. The boy is dead to the world, open mouthed and breathing quietly, sprawled out on Leo's chest with a hand fisted in Leo's shirt. Leo looks unbothered, carefully resting his cheek against the delicate curls on the top of Junior's head.

Cristiano is *fucked*.

Oh, he is so fucked.

He looks around for Antonella and spots her over in the corner talking in hushed tones on her phone. She catches his eye and smiles kindly before returning to her conversation.

"I hope he wasn't a bother," Cristiano says, finding his voice. He swallows, trying to regain control of himself, trying to ignore what it does to him to see Leo holding his son. "I couldn't get away. You remember how it is." He doesn't mean to say that, doesn't mean it as a dig at Leo. "Anyways, I mean, thanks," he finishes sincerely, eyeing the now complete dinosaur puzzle on the table in front of them.

Leo smiles faintly. "No problem," he says, eyes studying Cristiano. He hesitates, licking his lips as if he's going to continue--and Cristiano wants him to, really wants him to--but just then Cristiano's mother appears in the doorway.

Dolores enters the room, heels clacking, but comes to a stop behind Cristiano. "Oh, heavens!" she exclaims, clapping her hands together, bracelets clinking together noisily. "Isn't that the sweetest thing?! Let me take a picture!" She starts digging in her purse for her phone. "Goodness!"

Leo looks amused, hand rubbing across Junior's back when the little boy shifts at the sound. Junior's fist opens and closes before grabbing at Leo's shirt again, eyes remaining shut while smacking his lips a few times. Leo's hand continues to smooth over his back, moving up and down. Eventually Junior settles, sighing and going still. 

And Leo smiles at Cristiano.

Cristiano lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Jorge appears just as Cristiano's mother pulls out her phone triumphantly. She passes Cristiano, holding the screen towards the pair on the couch. She's about to take their picture until Jorge strides forward and grabs her arm. "What are you doing?" he asks, nudging the phone away. "You can't take their picture. That's a terrible idea. It'll end up all over the news." He frowns, shaking his head.

Dolores smiles. "Oh, no, no, I won't post it anywhere. I just want it for Junior. And don't be such a stick in the mud. You were so happy about filming them together earlier. This isn't any different," she insists, shrugging him off. "Besides, look at them," she says, holding a hand to her mouth. "It's adorable!" 

Jorge remains firm. "It's not a good idea. Being friendly is okay. It's fine. Handshakes and smiles and waves are one thing. This is another. This is not the type of relationship we want to portray," he says, looking over at the couch. He shakes his head again and then glances at his watch. "Come, Cris, get him up. We should be off," he says, ignoring the way Dolores grumbles unhappily.

Cristiano doesn't move, gaze still locked with Leo.

Antonella suddenly appears at his mother's side, dress sparkling in the dim light. "I'll take the picture," she says unwaveringly, her phone in her hand. She meets Jorge's glare serenely with a smile. "Because *I* see no harm in it."

Dolores nods approvingly, saying, "Thank you, my dear."

But Jorge steps to block her path.

On the couch, Leo's eyes have gone eerily dark, though he remains motionless except for the hand moving slowly up and down Junior's back.

"I said no," Jorge repeats, not touching Antonella, but not backing down.

Antonella stands her ground. Impressive for such a small woman. "Surely there's no harm," she says again quietly, smiling as she looks over at Junior who has remained asleep through the conflict. When Jorge's expression doesn't change, Antonella tilts her chin up. "In any case, don't you think it's up to Cristiano?" she asks, crossing her arms.

They all turn to look at Cristiano.

He can feel Jorge staring at him, wanting him to listen, not wanting him to agree to this. And Cristiano understands that Jorge is just looking out for him. Jorge is always looking out for him, for his family, for his image. Jorge's helped him time after time over the years: dealing with the press, negotiating contracts, and protecting his rights. When Cristiano needs anything, Jorge is there.

And Cristiano should listen to him.

But standing here, looking at the way Leo is cradling his son, Cristiano finds it hard to do so.

"Cris," Jorge says, stepping towards him and touching his arm, as if he senses Cristiano's thoughts. "It'll get out, you know it will. Maybe not on purpose, but someone will make a mistake, and the media will see it," he says, fingers squeezing Cristiano's wrist. "And they'll twist it, that's always what they do. You know that's what they'll do. It won't be a nice little moment anymore--they'll turn it into something ugly... I just want to protect you."

Cristiano claps him on the shoulder. "What's the worst they can say, hmm?" He cocks his head. "He's really Messi's son? Anyone with eyes can see they look completely different." He laughs. "No, wait, I know! I'm having a torrid affair with Leo--and here's the proof." 

Wouldn't that be something? The papers being right for once. 

Well, almost right. If Barcelona wins that fucking treble.

Jorge's expression doesn't change.

Cristiano squeezes his shoulder gently. "Jorge, I appreciate your concern. Really I do. But this is okay. And it's not about me--it's about Junior." He sees Jorge's frown soften. "Think about how much he'll like this picture, hmm?" He looks past his mother and Antonella, focusing on the way Junior is clinging to Leo. "It's okay."

"Take it then," Leo says, voice low and throaty, making Cristiano shiver with want. "Before he wakes up." 

Jorge throws his arms up and walks off, muttering under his breath. Cristiano watches him go, feeling unsettled as his mother and Antonella take their pictures. He'll have to make it up to Jorge later, he knows. But, his gaze is drawn back to the sofa, to where Leo keeps flicking his eyes to meet his--regardless of the cameras on him.

Once Dolores is finished, she claps her hands together and bends down to take Junior. Thankfully his son doesn't wake up fully, though he does whine a little, confused until his grandmother is holding him securely. His little hands hold to her neck tightly, recognizing her immediately. She shushes him, humming a song that lulls him back to sleep.

Antonella retrieves her shoes. "I'll walk you out," she says, unable to look away from Junior for too long. "Leo, the puzzle?" she asks, smiling when she receives a nod in return. Her smile changes when she looks at Cristiano. "Goodbye and congratulations, again," she says cordially, looking like she wants to say more. Her eyes dart over to Leo and then back and she raises an eyebrow. Then she and Dolores head out.

Cristiano really wishes that he understood women...

Irina would have known exactly what the fuck that meant...

"You think that's what they'll say?" Leo asks softly from the couch. He's sitting up now, hands going to the table, unhooking the little puzzle pieces together and dropping them into the bag from which they came. 

"What who will say?" Cristiano asks, staring at him, pulse starting to race now that they're alone again. He thinks of the way he'd kissed Leo in the bathroom, the way Leo's skin had felt under his fingertips... Soft and smooth and delicious. His eyes are drawn to Leo's throat, and he realizes Leo's bow tie is missing and his top button is undone. It makes him jealous, because he wanted to be the one to take that tie off. His fingers twitch. After a beat, he realizes that it's pretty rude to make Leo clean up Junior's mess, so he casually sits down next to Leo to start helping. 

"The papers," Leo says, not looking at Cristiano. "You think they'll say we're having an affair?" He drops a handful of pieces into the bag and holds it out for Cristiano to do the same. He scans the table, reaching for a few pieces that were blending in to the surface. "Maybe they'll say I'm transferring to Madrid."

Cristiano drops his handful into the bag, watching as Leo adds the last few pieces and seals the bag. He wants to ask if Leo would care--if the papers said either of those things. Leo's never seems to care before about what's been said in the press, unless it's critical of his love for Argentina.

"Cristiano?" Leo says, interrupting his thoughts.

Cristiano looks at him. His eyes are drawn again to where Leo's top button is undone. To that bobbing throat, pale skin peeking out from the crisp white shirt. 

He wants to press his lips there.

Wants to unbutton the rest of the shirt.

Wants to lick and suck and bite every inch of Leo's body.

"I'd prefer the affair," Cristiano murmurs, knowing he has nothing to lose. He puts his right hand on Leo's leg for the second time that night, feeling the muscles clench delectably. His pinkie strokes the inside of Leo's thigh, moving back and forth across the cloth, wishing that it were bare skin. This time there's no audience, no cameras watching his every move, and he grows bolder when he hears Leo make that little moan again. 

He slides his hand upwards, waiting for Leo to stop him, waiting for Leo to tell him not to. But Leo merely smiles and spreads his legs, leaning back against the couch. "Would you?" Leo asks, biting his lip and looking up at Cristiano though his lashes. "You'd prefer that over me coming to Madrid?" He asks coyly, as if it's even a possibility.

He's a fucking tease and he knows it.

"You on the right and me on the left?" Cristiano asks, pretending to mull that over as he brings his other hand over to palm Leo's cock. "That'd be nice, but think I'd prefer me on top and you on the bottom," he says, watching as Leo's lips part at the touch.

Leo's eyes fly shut, as he loses his battle to remain unaffected. One of his hands claws at the couch, nails catching on the expensive cloth, while the other curls into Cristiano's jacket. "That--that might be the worst line I've ever heard," he says breathlessly, moving his hips up into Cristiano's hand.

Cristiano grins, cupping Leo harder and enjoying the way Leo squirms in response. The bulge is thick and hot under his hand, even through Leo's pants. He wants to see it, wants to see how Leo likes to be touched.

And he will.

Because he has Leo right where he wants him.

Cristiano leans in and noses at Leo's throat, inhaling deeply. "Mmm," he says, "but I notice you're still here." He feels Leo pull him closer and smiles against Leo's skin, knowing he's winning whatever game they're playing. He moves his hand off Leo's thigh and up into his hair. His fingers thread through those dark strands, tugging Leo's head back so he can admire the long line of his throat.

Leo gasps, but moves docilely. "You're on top of me--that's why," he says, groaning as Cristiano runs his lips up the side of his neck. "And you shouldn't--we shouldn't--someone could walk in." He's trembling with need, arching whenever Cristiano sucks a kiss into his soft skin.

"Liar," Cristiano purrs, feeling how hard Leo is beneath him. "You want me here, want me pressing you down into these cushions." He mouths at Leo's throat again. "You want more than that--you already admitted that in the bathroom, didn't you?" He moves his hand off Leo's cock, sliding it up Leo's chest and undoes another button. "I should bend you over the back of this couch."

He can feel Leo shiver.

And so Cristiano pulls back, knowing he's regained the upper hand. He lets go of Leo entirely and shifts so he's back where he was sitting originally. He straightens his jacket, fingering his cuffs and then laughs. "But, if you're afraid someone will walk in..." Cristiano stands up and looks down, admiring the way Leo's chest is heaving. "Well, I guess we're finished then."

Leo's eyes are dark as he stares back at Cristiano. 

There's no hiding the way that his body has responded to Cristiano's touch.

And they both know it.

"Unless you have something to say," Cristiano says, licking his lips, watching as Leo's eyes follow the action. He takes a few steps back, putting more space between them. His heart is beating furiously, knowing he's so close to getting what he wants.

He wants Leo to come to him, wants Leo to really beg for it.

And Cristiano is used to getting what he wants.

It's how he got that gold ball.

So he grins as Leo stands and approaches him, stopping right in front of Cristiano. They're so close that Cristiano can see himself in the pupils of Leo's eyes. Cristiano's aching to kiss him, aching to smooth his hands all over Leo's silky skin, aching to find out what sounds Leo will make when he's flat on his back.

Leo rests his palms against Cristiano's chest. "I do have something to say," he murmurs, quietly enough that Cristiano has to lean down to hear him. 

Cristiano puts his hands on Leo's hips, pulling him closer. "And what's that?" he asks, pressing their bodies together gently, trying to show that it won't just be all rough touches and bites--he can make it slow and soft if that's what Leo wants. He rubs his head against Leo's, enjoying the feeling of the other man in his arms. His mouth is watering already.

It's going to be so good.

He can't wait.

Leo smiles. "I'll see you in March," he whispers, brushing his lips against Cristiano's cheek.

And then he's gone.

Again.

And Cristiano is alone.

Again.

"Fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I thought Leo might give in for a moment. But Cristiano got cocky haha.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed xo


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cristiano tries to forget about Leo after that.
> 
> It's hard, of course. Leo's name is forever being linked to his, just as Barcelona is forever being compared to Real Madrid. Every week it's Leo's done this and Barcelona's done that. It drives Cristiano crazy. But the truth is, it's been this way for years. It's only now, now that he’s finally made a move, and Leo's finally given him a taste—a taste of those lovely, sweet, plump lips—that Cristiano is starting to become obsessed.
> 
> He doesn’t forget.
> 
> He can’t forget.

Cristiano tries to forget about Leo after that.

It's hard, of course. Leo's name is forever being linked to his, just as Barcelona is forever being compared to Real Madrid. Every week it's Leo's done this and Barcelona's done that. It drives Cristiano crazy. But the truth is, it's been this way for years. It's only now, now that he’s finally made a move, and Leo's finally given him a taste—a taste of those lovely, sweet, plump lips—that Cristiano is starting to become obsessed.

He doesn’t forget.

He can’t forget.

He wakes up remembering that moment where Leo pulled away from him. That moment when Leo kissed his cheek goodbye, that tiny little brush against his skin, the whisper in his ear. How the fuck is he supposed to forget that he wakes up in an empty bed with only his hand for company?

No, he can’t forget.

His family doesn't help.

Not that Junior does it deliberately. But he's forever watching videos on YouTube. He spends hours watching highlights from Leo's games over the years, or videos featuring the Barcelona player's best goals and passes. In Junior’s defense, it’s because a lot of the videos are about both Cristiano and Leo, so Junior is enthralled. Cristiano can’t fault his choices. The problem is that every time Cristiano picks up the iPad, he's bombarded by suggestions about new videos to watch--that are all about Leo.

It ends up with Cristiano buying his son his own iPad. Just so he can get some peace.

Cristiano's mother isn't happy at first, thinks he's spoiling Junior. But then she finds the whole thing amusing. "He likes good players, good football, niño," is all she says when Cristiano honestly has to explain his reasoning for the purchase.

Cristiano looks at her suspiciously.

Because anytime Leo comes up in conversation, Dolores is strangely encouraging. She's always talking about Leo and Antonella, and how nice they were at the ceremony... (Cristiano thinks that she's secretly in contact with Antonella, but he can't prove it for sure. “That lovely woman,” Dolores calls her, even in conversation with other people.) There's still some friction between her and Jorge over the whole picture-taking incident, but as time passes they seem to be getting over it.

The picture of Junior sleeping on Leo's chest doesn't get out.

The footage of Leo shaking Junior's hand before the ceremony does, though.

People love it. Even his haters like it. Truly magical, his son.

Leo doesn't officially respond to the clip, either to yell at Cristiano for leaking it or to make any snide comments like it was the highlight of his evening. No, he and his camp have no response. They go about their business. Except for the jersey.

That's right, the jersey.

Cristiano almost throws it away when his mother hands it to him. “A courier dropped it off, today,” she says, handing him a small box.

At first, he can’t tell what it is. It’s harmless. It’s just a box with Junior’s name on top. “Who’s it from?” he asks, not entirely okay with just letting his son open strange packages.

Dolores just smiles, and that should be his first clue that the answer isn’t going to be one he likes. “It’s from Barcelona,” she says as if this is an everyday occurrence. “I’m sure you can open the package first. Junior won’t mind.”

Cristiano makes a face, but he carefully opens the box. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, is a brand new Barcelona jersey. He sees the colors before he actually realizes what it is, and he’s already sneering. Once the jersey is fully revealed, though, he shakes his head. “He’s not keeping this,” he mutters under his breath as he tosses the box on the table and then holds the jersey up in front of him. He just stares at the red and blue stripes.

Dolores makes a sound of amusement, holding a hand to her mouth to cover her smile. “Turn it around,” she says softly, pointing to the back.

Cristiano is already afraid of what he’s going to see. He turns the jersey over in his hands, the fabric slipping easily over his palms. “Fucking Leo,” he says, staring down at it in shock.

“Language,” his mother chastens, still looking amused. “But what does it say?” she asks, crowding up next to him as they peer down at the ink scribbled across the giant number ten.

Cristiano bites his tongue. “It says, _To Junior, I’m so glad we met. I hope to see you again soon. A hug, Leo_.” He lets out an enormous sigh, shaking his head again.

Dolores claps her hands. “Oh,” she marvels, “he’s going to love it!” She scrambles out of the room to go get Junior out of bed, unheeding Cristiano’s weak protests.

He stares down at the jersey again, tracing Leo’s signature. “Touché,” he murmurs, imagining Leo sitting at the table and scrawling out a message for Junior. That dark hair would be falling into his eyes, tongue poking out between his teeth in concentration…

Junior bursts into the room. “I have a present?” he asks, coming to a stop in front of Cristiano. Upon seeing the jersey in Cristiano’s hands, his eyes get huge. He puts his fists in front of his mouth like he can’t believe it. “Is that it?” he asks, the words muffled. “Is that for me?”

His eyes are the brightest that Cristiano has seen in a long time.

So Cristiano sucks it up. “Yes,” he says, trying to summon a smile. He probably fails miserably, but he manages to keep most of his distaste hidden. “It’s for you,” he says, gently placing it in his son’s hands.

Junior holds the jersey like it’s going to break. “It’s really for me?” he asks, smile breaking out across his face. “I—I—,” he stammers, holding it up in front of himself. “Should I--can I put it on?” he asks, biting his lip when he sees Cristiano’s lack of enthusiasm. “Or, maybe…” he trails off, dropping it unhappily.

“Of course, you should put it on,” Dolores says suddenly, elbowing Cristiano out of the way. She helps Junior pull it down over his head, smoothing the material so that all of the wrinkles disappear. “Don’t you look like a proper fan, now,” she says, pinching Junior’s cheeks. “Go look in the mirror,” she orders, pointing across the room.

Junior laughs and runs off gleefully.

Cristiano wants to throw up as he watches his son run off in blaugrana. The **MESSI**  stretched out across the back taunts him. “Oh, Jesus,” he says, knowing there’s nothing he can do.

His mother slaps his arm.

“Ow!” He exclaims, taking a step back from her. “What was that for?” He rubs his arm and watches her warily in case she’s going to hit him again.

“You’d better put on a happier face that that,” Dolores says, face darkening. “It’s not going to hurt anyone if he’s wearing that.” Behind her, Junior is squealing as he turns around and sees what’s written on the back.

Cristiano rolls his eyes but smiles. “Happy now?” he asks through his teeth as Junior comes running back exclaiming about the message Leo’s written him.

“Oh, yes, niño,” she says. “I’m very happy.”

Cristiano doesn’t reply.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the jersey. Doesn’t want to tell his teammates or his friends. Some of them would be okay with it, but some of them definitely wouldn’t. He just keeps Junior confined to their home when he’s wearing it, pretends it’s so Junior doesn’t ruin it. Junior just smiles and smiles and Cristiano doesn’t have the heart to even trying to discourage him from wearing it. He half thinks he should send a message to Leo thanking him, but every time he goes to do it, he gets stuck—because it would mean actually getting Leo’s number from someone.

And so he ends up doing nothing, saying nothing, pretending nothing ever happened between them.

Time goes on.

And eventually, it’s March.

And he’s at Camp Nou.

Cristiano doesn't say hello to Leo before the game. He wants to, but honestly, he’s not sure he can control himself. He’ll want to push Leo up against the wall, strip him out of that terrible blue and red, press his lips down his chest…

In the tunnel, the other players are all chatting and laughing, hugging their teammates from the national team. Sergio and Piqué are betting about something or another, while Iniesta is speaking in low tones to Iker. Neymar is shrieking about something ridiculous to Marcelo... It's an unusually friendly atmosphere despite the looming match, but Cristiano refuses to look in Leo's direction. He can’t risk it.

He doesn't know if Leo looks in his.

They shake hands on the field, but Cristiano doesn't let his touch linger. He stares straight ahead, eyes barely skimming Leo’s face and then he walks away afterward. He's still feeling the slide of Leo's fingertips against his own, and can only shake his head as he tries to forget it. Because he has to focus, can't afford any distractions--not with something this important on the line.

Of course, he can't control everything.

And then they lose.

Cristiano is angry.

He's always angry when they lose, of course, but to lose against Barcelona leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. It's tough playing at the Camp Nou. They knew going in that it wouldn't be easy. But Cristiano had been confident, despite the tie against Villarreal and the loss to Bilbao earlier in the month. His brace against Schalke, and then the win against Levante had sparked desire in him.

He'd *wanted* a win more than ever.

Just goes to show that it doesn't matter what he wants. It doesn't matter how long he trained, how long he'd pushed himself over and over. It was all for nothing.

They'd lost anyway.

He'd lost anyway.

And to make it worse, he's supposed to play nice afterward. To shake Neymar's hand and Suárez's, too. To act like it's no big deal to lose against his rival. All of them in that sickening blue and red... As if Cristiano doesn't know that they're laughing at him behind those fake smiles.

He can't do it.

He pushes his way into the tunnel quickly, not wanting to deal with anyone. He can ignore all the whistling and shouting coming from the stands, but he's not going to shake hands with anyone and pretend everything is okay. He can't even applaud the traveling fans. He needs to get out of there.

The tunnel is already filled with people, but most of them get out of Cristiano's way when they see him coming. Maybe it's the stormy look on his face or the determination in his eyes, but they get out of the way and don't try to stop him. Which is why he pulls his jersey over his head while he's walking, not even bothering to slow down as his vision gets obscured.

And that's why he runs into Leo.

He doesn't know it's Leo right away, of course. He just knows he hits somebody, hard, with his hip. They're hot, smelling of grass and dirt, skin wet with sweat--a player then. They don't complain so Cristiano keeps on walking, uncaring, slinging his jersey over his shoulder once he pulls it over his head.

But somehow, over the noise in the tunnel, he hasn't gone far before hears a faint gasp of pain.

People keep swarming down the tunnel. Players and officials, and security and a few select fans. The noise increases as the tunnel fills up, and Cristiano turns around to see who he hit.

Of course, it's Leo.

He's standing there, shoulders hunched, a white jersey tucked into the side of his waistband. His blue under armor is soaked. One of his hands is resting protectively against his flat stomach, rubbing slowly. The other is holding onto the wall as if he would fall without its support. His cheeks are flushed, probably from the win, but his eyes are dark and sad as they meet Cristiano's.

A flicker of shame curls through Cristiano's body, his anger subsiding as guilt begins to take over.

Because no matter the result of the game, no matter how frustrated he is, he would never want to hurt Leo. Especially like this, off the field for no reason at all. He takes a half step in Leo's direction, wanting to apologize, but stops as Neymar appears over Leo's shoulder.

And just like that, anger starts to wash over Cristiano again as Neymar steps into Leo's space and hugs him, cupping Leo's face in concern. Cristiano can't hear what is said, but Leo turns his attention to Neymar and winces. The Brazilian leans closer and wraps an arm around Leo, who ducks his head and then seems to melt into the embrace.

Cristiano grits his teeth at the sight.

He's annoyed at the easy familiarity between the two of them, and even more so when Neymar crowds Leo up against the wall and then starts gently rubbing over Leo's belly.

As if he has the right to touch Leo however he wants.

The sight of Neymar's fingers caressing Leo's body makes Cristiano remember Barcelona's first goal. How after Mathieu had scored, Cristiano had looked over to see Leo leaping onto Neymar... The way Neymar had opened his arms, wrapping them around Leo's waist, eagerly accepting Leo's weight. How Leo had tucked his head into Neymar's neck, while his thighs had squeezed around Neymar's hips...

And now, Cristiano watches as Neymar's fingers slip under Leo's under armor, pushing up the fabric to reveal a strip of pale skin and an angry red mark.

Then Cristiano walks away.

He bangs into a few more people as he strides away, but this time, he doesn't look back.

The locker-room is pretty much silent when he gets there. And it stays silent as the rest of his team files in, tired and disappointed with the result. There are little spurts of conversation here and there, but Cristiano ignores most of it, angry again.

Iker sits down next to him on the bench.

Cristiano doesn't look at him, doesn't want to see the defeat in his captain's eyes. So he lets their knees knock together instead, wordlessly giving his friend support. They stay like that, sitting on the bench, elbows on their knees, staring at the floor aimlessly while their teammates get dressed around them.

Someone mentions Leo's name, and Cristiano can't help turning his head toward the conversation.

"They're definitely fucking," Marcelo says, wrapping a towel around his waist. He grabs his shampoo out of his bag. "I mean, it's pretty obvious. Ney's practically humping his leg every chance he gets." He hits his locker closed with his hip and then leans against it tiredly.

Lucas raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, but how do you know for sure?" He sits down on the bench and starts taking off his boots. "It could just be one-sided." He sets his shoes down and then peels off his socks. "Just because Neymar wants him doesn't mean Messi's bending over for him."

Marcelo gives him a look. "I've got eyes, that's how." Then he smiles. "But yeah, Dani told me Neymar's been getting more daring. And annoying. Wouldn't surprise me to hear that Messi finally gave in." He shrugs. "Frankly, I'm glad. Because I swear to god, if I had to hear Ney describe Messi's perfectly formed ass one more time during international break, I was going to throttle someone."

Lucas laughs. "In Ney’s defense, though, it’s pretty spectacular," he says, ducking as Marcelo tries to smack him.

The two of them walk off the showers, and Cristiano watches them go.

When Cristiano gets home, he goes into Junior's closet and hides Leo's jersey deep in the back so his son will never find it.

It doesn't make him feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since I updated this one, sorry about that. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junior cries when he can't find his jersey.
> 
> Cristiano doesn't realize that's the problem at first. It's weeks after *the* game, weeks after he'd been driven mad by the sight of Leo and Neymar, weeks after he'd hidden one of his son's most treasured possessions for no reason other than his own jealousy. It’s not like he’s dwelled on it. That’s not the way football works. He’s gone on to put five past Granada, score his 300th against Rayo Vallecano, and help keep Real in the race for the league with goals against Eibar and Málaga. 
> 
> Granted he hadn’t scored against Atleti in the Champions League either time… But he wasn’t worried about that. What really worried him was what team they’d be drawn against for the semi-finals.
> 
> None of that mattered at the moment, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over a year later... I continue?

Junior cries when he can't find his jersey.

Cristiano doesn't realize that's the problem at first. It's weeks after *the* game, weeks after he'd been driven mad by the sight of Leo and Neymar, weeks after he'd hidden one of his son's most treasured possessions for no reason other than his own jealousy. It’s not like he’s dwelled on it. That’s not the way football works. He’s gone on to put five past Granada, score his 300th against Rayo Vallecano, and help keep Real in the race for the league with goals against Eibar and Málaga. 

Granted he hadn’t scored against Atleti in the Champions League either time… But he wasn’t worried about that. What really worried him was what team they’d be drawn against for the semi-finals.

None of that mattered at the moment, though.

"Pai," Junior says, as he creeps up to Cristiano at the breakfast table that day. There aren't any huge gulping sobs, but his little shoulders are shaking. He’s upset and trying to be calm about it, which worries Cristiano. "Pai," Junior says again, eyes red and cheeks stained with tear tracks like this has been going on for quite some time. 

Cristiano nearly drops his toast onto the floor. "What's the matter?!" he asks, immediately alarmed. He pulls Junior up into his lap, kissing his forehead and smoothing a hand through his curls. "Are you hurt?" he asks frantically, scanning his son for any sign of injury. "Sick?" he asks when he finds nothing and Junior shakes his head. "Then what, baby?" he presses as Junior hides his face.

Junior sniffles into Cristiano's throat, tears starting again. "I can't find it," he whimpers, fingers clutching the back of Cristiano's neck. “I don’t,” he chokes out, coughing slightly, “know where it is.” He’s starting to get Cristiano’s collar wet, but he keeps his face hidden like he’s ashamed.

"What can't you find?" Cristiano asks, concerned about what could possibly be causing this kind of reaction. He runs through his son’s collection of stuffed animals, trying to remember where he last saw each one of them. The bear was definitely on Junior’s bed, the dog was in the wash, the cat might be in on his bed…

"My jersey," Junior says, the words muffled against Cristiano's throat as his trembling increases. "I looked and looked and I can't find it anywhere!"

The answer makes Cristiano release a sigh of relief. That, at least, won’t be nearly as hard to find as those silly toys that travel everywhere with them. He thanks his lucky stars that he won’t have to be retracing his steps for the last week, calling hotels and managers, trying to find a lost bunny or stuffed Hulk. 

The truth is, Junior has so many jerseys that the one in question still doesn't occur to Cristiano. 

So Cristiano hugs him, confused and amused, kissing the top of his head. "It's in the laundry, Junior," he says soothingly. "You spilled some juice on it yesterday, remember?" he asks, thinking about how Junior's apple juice had splashed across the white fabric of the Real Madrid James jersey he'd been wearing at lunch. It hadn't been a big deal--Junior had just changed into a Ramos one.

Junior pulls his head out. "No, Pai," he says, lower lip trembling. "My—my Messi jersey," he says, wiping his eyes. “I—I—,” he stutters, trying to calm down, "I haven't worn it in awhile, but I know I hung it up like Grandma told me. I know I did!" he says plaintively. 

Cristiano freezes, hand clutching his son's.

"Your Messi jersey," he repeats slowly, avoiding his son's eyes as he remembers the way he'd balled it up and pushed it to the back of the upper shelf in Junior's closet. "I wouldn't worry about it," he says, going back to eating his toast. "We'll find it at some point." His toast is cold now, dry and unpleasantly sticking to his throat as he swallows. 

Junior sniffles again. "I was careful," he says quietly, lips quivering. "Grandma said I had to be careful and take care of it, because Leo was so nice to send it to me—and I *was*, I know I hung it up, I know I did, and I can't find it, and it's not there, and and and—,” Junior starts crying again, hiccuping as he gets himself worked up.

Cristiano shuts his eyes and cuddles him. "Alright, baby," he says, wrapping his arms around his shuddering son. "I'll find it for you," he promises, kissing Junior's head again and again, regretting that he'd moved the jersey in the first place. It had been immature of him to think of getting rid of it, and stupid of him even trying to do so. "I'll find it, okay?" he repeats, hugging Junior tightly. "Calm down, now. It's alright."

When Junior’s tears dry up, Cristiano tells him to wait at the table. Then he goes to Junior’s room and opens the closet. It’s neatly organized, all of Junior’s treasured jerseys hanging up and waiting to be worn. They aren’t by player or by team, but rather by color, and Cristiano shakes his head as he pushes past a blue French jersey with Karim’s name and a green Mexican jersey with Chicharito’s to reach the shelf where he’d hidden the problematic shirt from Barcelona. He sees the hint of bright red and blue stripes tucked under a stack of blankets and takes a deep breath.

Holding it out in front of him brings it all back, and Cristiano grits his teeth while he composes himself.

Junior puts it on over his Nike t-shirt as soon as Cristiano returns with it in his hand. “Thank you,” he whispers, wiping at his eyes a little. “I’ll be more careful.” He peers up at Cristiano and looks solemn, pulling on the bottom of the jersey to try to unwrinkle it. “I will. I promise.” 

Cristiano pats him on the head, turning so that his son doesn’t see the look on his face. “It’s alright,” he says, feeling like shit for even letting his son think this was his fault. He’ll make it up to him in a thousand different ways, and definitely never do something like this ever again.. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. Must have just gotten knocked off the hanger for some reason.”

Junior nods, smile returning as he looks down at the red and blue. “Do you think,” he starts, hesitating a bit when Cristiano looks at him.

“What?” Cristiano asks, kneeling down so he’s on his son’s eye level. Without realizing what he’s doing, he reaches out and starts to pull at the jersey too. It looks wrong all wrinkled like it is, and it bothers him. Except, when he does finally realize what he’s touching, he pulls his hands away like they’ve been burned. “What were you saying?” he asks, sitting back on his heels.

Junior tilts his head. “I want to thank Leo,” he says cautiously, like he always is whenever he brings up Barcelona in front of Cristiano, before giving a firm nod. “Yes,” he declares. “I want to thank him for sending me a gift.”

Cristiano would bet everything he owns that this is the result of his mother’s meddling. She’s been rather quiet lately on the subject, perhaps sensing that Cristiano was still licking his wounds. She’d toned down her talk about Antonella, instead saying very little about Leo’s girlfriend. And still, she’d given him looks here and there. Even now, Cristiano can hear her voice in his head, can imagine her whispering into Junior’s ear… anything to get Cristiano to talk to Leo. 

All that woman ever did was meddle.

Cristiano had never shared the full story with her, though. She only knew about what she saw at the gala when Junior was asleep, and perhaps whatever Leo told Antonella afterward. If he even told her anything, that is. But neither of them could know everything. It might have been some time since the game against Barcelona, but Cristiano hasn’t forgotten anything. Not Leo’s sadness in the hallway. Not Neymar’s embrace. And certainly not what Lucas and Marcelo were talking about in the locker room.

Every once in awhile, as he’s drifting off to sleep, he finds himself reliving those moments. He wonders what would have happened if Real Madrid had won that game. If he could have gotten a second and third goal to erase Mathieu’s and Suárez’s, and if he hadn’t been in such a pissy mood when he stormed down the hallway. 

Would he have talked to Leo? 

Pressed him against the hallway for a different reason? 

Just like he had at the gala?

Cristiano falls asleep hard and aching more than he’d like to admit, the rest of his body clearly remembering that incident very well—no matter how much he tries to forget. He’s sought out other company lately, in an effort to try to get it all out of his system. Teammates with energy to burn, past lovers, hell, he’d even called Irina and spent a couple of hours reminding himself of the pleasures of women…

They were a *good* couple of hours too.

And yet.

Cristiano knows what he really wants. As much as he loves women, he wants something else. Someone else. He wants that silky hair. Those plump lips. That hard body with its teasing softness and surprising curves. He doesn’t even have to close his eyes anymore to see Leo’s dark eyes in front of him.

It’s become an obsession. 

Part of him doesn’t like that Leo’s the one who got away.

There are other reasons for wanting Leo. Not just because of the way he’d trembled against Cristiano, or arched to meet his kisses. Aside from all of that, aside from the fact that the sexual tension is sizzling between them… Leo’s smart—he reads the field like no other, sees things that nobody else sees. And he’s funny, or at least his idea of winning the treble is. His attempts at dressing himself are also rather amusing. He’s friendly, good with Junior, polite to nearly everyone he meets. Doesn’t try to make a mess in the press or anything.

Cristiano wanted him for all of that too.

It doesn’t make sense. Rather, it shouldn’t make sense. Leo doesn’t fit with his life. Not that there’s anything wrong with him… Aside from him playing for Barcelona. In another life, they would have been a perfect match. But in this life, it would never work.

It can’t ever work.

It would be so much easier if he’d never made a move on Lionel Messi in the restroom of the Fifa Ballon d’Or ceremony.

Or again in the VIP area.

Or seen Leo with his son.

It would be so much easier if Cristiano could forget him.

The question is, what had made his mother decide now was the time to do anything about it? The looming draw perhaps? Was she worried that Madrid and Barcelona would end up playing each other in the semi-final? Frankly, Cristiano had tried not to think of about it. He didn’t want to play against Leo again. Not this season. Not until he could put some distance between them and figure out what the hell to do with himself. Yes, if he could avoid playing Leo again, that would be great.

Or ever again, really, if he had the choice. 

Not just because Leo was fucking ruthless with a ball at his feet, but also because it wouldn’t be possible for the both of them to be happy after a game. One of them would win, and the other would lose. Even a tie wouldn’t do it, there would still be hurt feelings somehow or another. Things get said, or done on the field, friendships are forgotten in the quest for victory. 

It would be brutal to be in a relationship with someone he would have to play against.

Cristiano had done his best to avoid any mention of Leo in the last few weeks. It was impossible, of course, as always. He knew Leo had scored in the last few games, against Almería and Sevilla and Valencia. Barcelona dropping points against Sevilla had been a big thing too, making the results of that game hard to ignore. Leo had scored, but it hadn’t been enough to get anything more than a tie. The papers were all aflutter. But nothing new there. It was really only unusual when Leo didn’t score. Surprisingly, like Cristiano, he’d been quiet in the Champions League and not found the net against PSG.

“Oh, do you?” Cristiano asks, returning to the present and stalling slightly as his son waits for an answer. “That’s very nice of you, but I don’t think it’s necessary,” he says, ruffling Junior’s hair and trying to think of whether or not it’s really a good idea. Sending something to Leo just meant that one of his people would have to get in contact with one of Leo’s people, and that would mean a bunch of nonsense.

Junior pulls his head away and scratches at his hair wildly as if to undo all of Cristiano’s good work. “But can’t I just send him a card?” He gives Cristiano the puppy dog eyes, blinking slowly and carefully, all the while knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” Cristiano says, trying not to smile, “but that look does not work with me.” When Junior pouts slightly, Cristiano relents. “Alright,” he breathes, standing up and working through the logistics in his head, “you can write a thank you note and I’ll send it to him. Okay?”

It won’t have to be such a big deal. He doesn’t have to send it to Leo directly. He can send it to Leo’s agent or the club, and that way they can send it on to Leo without him having to find out a personal mailing address. The club will surely pass it on, if they know who it’s from. Or he can pass it off to Piqué or something. 

Junior grins, hugging Cristiano tightly. “Yes!” he says, squeezing. “It’s the proper thing to do,” he parrots, in a good imitation of his grandmother, and Cristiano just shakes his head.

He doesn’t really think of it again until later that night, when they have the draw. For some reason, a great sense of calm settles over him as he waits to find out who they’ll be playing. 

It could be Bayern. 

It could be Juve. 

Both are dangerous teams and certainly aren’t ones he’d like to be up against. As for Barcelona… If it’s Barcelona, and Leo, he’ll deal with it. 

And that’s what he tells himself as Barcelona is the first ball drawn out of the pot. He’ll deal with it. He’ll deal with it. He’ll deal with it… Except the next ball is Bayern, and Cristiano can’t help letting out a deep sigh of relief. Thank fuck he doesn’t have to deal with it. The rest of the draw is all formality, and he licks his lips as Juventus and Real Madrid are pulled out next. His thoughts turn to Juve, and he’s already thinking of the games in May.

His phone starts lighting up, anyone and everyone wanting to talk about the draw, but Cristiano doesn’t answer most of them.

But one? Yes, there’s one call he definitely answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never? Hope you're still following this fic!


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